


peaches and cream

by bystander



Category: Original Work
Genre: Excessive Usage Of The Oxford Comma, F/F, Lowercase, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bystander/pseuds/bystander
Summary: ‘you stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares back.’ —nietzsche





	peaches and cream

**Author's Note:**

> very, very gay

there’s some things that never tire. the curve of her neck as she turns back to look at you; she only ever looks ahead, but there are exceptions to every rule. sometimes, when you wake up in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat and your own fear, she is there, beside you, beautiful. her dark hair splayed in contrast against the pastel pink of the bedsheets, her lashes resting, divine, on golden cheeks. sometimes, when you remember to be grateful, (and this is not often. you are many things, but retrospective is not one of them. it’s one of the few ways you two are the same) you screw your eyes shut, until you see stars, until you really might never open them again; and then, only then, you let a word of gratitude flit through your thoughts. it never stays for long, because being grateful means that you have received something to be grateful for. and to you can never believe she is yours, and you can never be sure she isn’t going to leave. her big fancy dreams, of her big fancy house, the pool of money at her feet; the sun painting landscapes of gold, rich greens, earthy browns, sweet pinks, bright yellows just for her; the world at her fingertips even as it comes crashing down.

this, you know, you cannot keep. there is only so much you can offer, and that much is pathetic in comparison to what she does have, could have, will have. she will have the stars dancing at her whim; the curve of her neck, again. the arch of her spine. the flick of her finger. they will rise, and fall, combust, and die. and they, too, will be grateful, even as they burst in flame, their heads fall off their shoulders, blood splatters on mahogany tables, polished wood flooring, a drawing room bathed with the maybe’s. helios. one last goodbye. 

 

there have been others before her, but you can not remember them now. you don’t particularly want to. you’re sure you must have had fun times, must have made love, must have ghosted heat and sweet nothings into the shells of each other’s ears. you must have. but even as the food on your coffee table cools, even as your lips ache from loneliness, even from the emptiness of her side of your car, your couch, your bed, you do not remember. you won’t remember.

you have been in love before her. but you will never be, after.

 

you are beautiful. it’d be stupid to deny it. humanity will become extinct with the warming of the earth, you have an ex-reality tv star serving as the leader of your country, Beyoncé has twenty two grammys, and if you really wanted to, you could be a runway model.

you’ve weaponized this. it’s why you can get away with not having a shitty job and doing just whatever you want, and sending your mother a handsome sum every month on top of that. it’s amazing what a nice face and an instagram page can do.

so those are the facts. another fact: you stopped breathing for a solid minute the first time you saw her walking into the pointlessly stylish cafe, you in a table strategically placed for maximally utilized natural lighting. you only came here to update your account, but—there’s been a cosmic shift. linoleum rolls under your feet. when you meet eyes for the first time, gray on brown, blood rushes through your ears, every emotion you’ve ever felt. you fall.

 

your mother tells you you are a fool. it’s nothing you don’t know. you’ve always done everything falling in face-first. this is how you’d ended up suspended in middle school for punching out your teacher, ended up halfway across the world ten years later with nothing but baggage and spite. if you were smart, you’d have ran the second you’d known what you were getting into. but have you ever really known? you’re not a words type of person. 

you have, though. you have known. you’d known it the second she’d sat across from you in her blood red pantsuit, red blazer, legs crossed delicately over leg. there’s cracks of thunder in the air; your hearing whites out. she’d smiled, serene, and you knew from the tearing in your ribs that you were gone. your body was rushing, pounding, everything you had. she reaches out, red red red manicured fingernails glinting, caresses a loose lock of hair back behind your hair. as she makes to retreat, you grab her hand and smash into her red red lips with fiery resignation and the knowledge that your life is no longer yours.

 

‘you stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares back.’ —nietzsche

 

she asks you, sometimes, why it feels like you’re not all there all the time. you tell her that the idea is ridiculous. you’ve never been more present than when she is with you.

she stares, briefly, displeased, into your eyes. you look back until she goes back to her tea.

it’s the start of what you know will only be downhill from here. 

 

your mother tells you you are a fool. as she bites bruise-hard into the skin of your hip and you grip her ass like she might disappear if you let go, you relearn that she is right.

 

her lips are always red, red, red. when she wipes off her makeup to sleep, her lips are the one part that never changes. it’s always so red red red, shaped as if it had just been done for a lipstick ad. it stays perfect through when she eats breakfast, lunch, dinner, your asshole. she never replies when you ask if it’s natural. just smiles vaguely and switches on the tv. you suppose it’s one of the things you’ll never know about her.

 

you’ve never had ‘the talk’, you guess. she knows, though. she’d have to be a complete idiot, or blind, to not notice that you love her. she is neither. so she knows. as for you? it’s difficult to tell what she’s thinking. she could be around for your microwave, the newest model on the market because you’d accidentally set the old one on fire last week. or a menstrual hygiene dispenser. the free meals you make. or you. it’s always a toss-up. (but there’s always exceptions to every rule.)

 

you think maybe the reason you fall so hard and so fast is because you’re lonely. but you’re not a psychologist. you’re just a woman in her twenties trying to get by.

 

when you were younger, you knew exactly what you wanted for your future. you were going to marry an old rich guy, wait for him to die, then take all his money and live a life of luxury. and it’s not that your plans have changed. you’ve just found something else you’d rather do, first.

**Author's Note:**

> this was absolutely just for fun but i hope you liked it too!


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